Unmistakable Style of Matinee Idol

There was something rather special about the old matinee idol. Unlike the screen sex symbols of modern years, the idol inspired more than a little heat under the collar. They were objects of lust to be sure, but they were also something a little finer. In Robert Altman’s 2001 film ‘Gosford Park’, Jeremy Northam, himself no slouch in the screen idolatry department, played one of the classic 1930s idols, Ivor Novello. One of the most memorable parts of the portrayal was Novello’s slightness of manner. Apart from the troubadic interludes at the piano, the ‘Gosford Park’ Novello was a quiet and unassuming chap quite remote from the public image, the brashness of the billboard and the pomp of his music; he possessed a measured and universally pleasant manner.

Indeed some idols were quite the reverse of the noisy and showy characters they portrayed. Rudolph Valentino once remarked that women, despite many claims to the contrary, were not in love with him but with his picture on the screen; “I am merely the canvas on which women paint their dreams.”

This humility and private indignation with the sensationalism they caused was a rare quality of a matinee idol. Considered second rate in their quality as thespians by an envious theatrical fraternity, the idol was for many merely an extremely handsome clothes horse, a stylish but vitally empty creature of superficial whimsy. Characters like Errol Flynn endorse such description, but Flynn was a rare beast in the world of Hollywood men being more inclined to the boisterous bonhomie than the boudoir whereas chaps like Dirk Bogarde retained their sense of mystery with their casual elegance. They captured the imagination of males and females alike; conjuring as much admiration for their chic as for their exotic good looks.

They were somewhere between a sportsman and a dandy in style; never allowing their mighty neon names to take their image into absurdity and yet still managing to live up to their cinematic presence with powerful panache. They never had the ornamentation or the affectation of stage and screen fops; they were clean cut, elegant and yet somehow simple. Such attitude was reflected in their screen and stage personas and it was obvious, in the case of luminous leading men like Robert Donat, that their style was not part of an act but really a marketable part of who they were.

In many ways they were the cinematic muses: the marvellous and mesmeric men of celluloid, towering figures of the imagination, their timelessness and everlasting appeal displayed to magnificent effect and captured for all time on little reels of film.
Crucially, the one telling thing about the matinee idol was, that for all his supposed exoticism and ethereal splendour, he was frighteningly convincing as the Everyman. Richard Hannay may have been a fabulous and witty brick of a chap, but it was the honesty and goodness with which he was played by Donat that won the hearts of moviegoers.

The true magic of the movies was in taking something ordinary, something commonplace, and parading it in beauty and style; the matinee idol had an unmistakable and organic input in this process and that such idolization should continue off-screen was only to be expected. When something ordinary is done so very well, it is really rather a rare thing indeed; therein lies the secret of that unmistakable style.

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Gatsby Style

It ranks as one of the great works of American literature; one of the first ‘Great American Novels’ and the absolute dernier cris on the documentation of the Jazz Age. Though in my opinion it is not his finest work, it is still a wonderful yarn and it is the 180 pages for which Scott Fitzgerald is best known. In fact, it is so American a tale; the birth, life and death of the famous ‘American dream’, the tragedy of money and the fragility of frank and honest love, that I feel, as an Englishman, my ‘across-the-pond’ perspective is unwelcome. However, I take solace in the fact that Gatsby was indeed, ‘an Oxford man’; in the same way that Fitzgerald had intended when he was young. Poor Scott, he had to ‘settle’ for Princeton.

Although he had a great love for his country, Scott was somewhat European in taste. Moving to California caused him distress – he loathed Hollywood and found little inspiration there, preferring the quiet of the Deep South or the buzz and gentility of New York. He made frequent visits to Europe, holidaying with the Mark Cross-owning Murphys at Cap d’Antibes and propping up the Ritz bar with Ernest Hemingway in Paris – he was a literary boulevardier content with being an American export.

In much the same way, Ralph Lauren, who designed the men’s costumes for the 1974 film production of The Great Gatsby starring Robert Redford, though also an ‘all-American’, shares an affinity with F.Scott Fitzgerald for certain things which qualify as classically English. The sport of polo, despite its undeniably Indian past, has strong associations with the British elite who colonised the country and, appropriate to the heritage of the clothing, Ralph decided his brand should be marketed as such. And though Scott may have adored American football, he was fascinated with European systems and traditions; perhaps a reason why characters such as Amory Blaine and Jay Gatsby, received, or were intended to receive in the case of Amory, English educations and perhaps why the marvellous Jay Gatsby has clothing sent to his West Egg mansion all the way from the distant metropolis of London at the start of every season.

As far as costuming goes, there was surely no one more appropriate than Ralph Lauren, who himself dreamed Gatsby dreams, once writing in his school yearbook of his simple desire to be ‘a millionaire.’ What I liked particularly about his clothing in the Redford film was his use of colour, and the way in which Gatsby was differentiated from the rest; he wore the clothing of the period, but he wore it in his way consistent with his uniqueness. Tom and Nick were more honestly American in their delivery but Gatsby seemed to belong to one of the typically Fitzgeraldian fantasies detailed in the short story, The Diamond as Big as the Ritz: white and pink suits, daring candy colours and a mirror-like brilliance.

In the still of the three of them, standing next to the two motor cars, there is heavy symbolism in the costume. Gatsby, in his pale pink linen three-piece suit, is being regarded with a sneer by the scion of old Chicago money, Tom, whilst the poor and rather disapproving Nick seems to exhibit mounting pains with his own neutrality. There is no doubt that Tom regards Gatsby as vulgar, “Mr Nobody from Nowhere”, and yet we empathise more with Gatsby’s charming naivety than Buchanan’s dissatisfying breeding. Lauren captures this sentiment brilliantly by clothing him in a beautifully cut pink suit – such audacity is consistent with his cavalier derring-do and combat heroism, and his swashbuckling attempt to prize his true love from the arms of another man. On other occasions, Lauren stylishly captures Jay’s vulnerability by wrapping him in a silk scarf and blazer; cold and wintry in colour and style, in strong contrast to the brazen ‘candification’ of some of his splendid suits.

What is also impressive about Lauren’s clothing is that he manages to remain true to the period but still capture the Gatsby of our imaginations. Although, indubitably, there is a slight fattening of the tie, lengthening of the collar, widening of the trouser and polish of the bow tie, historically, the combinations are accurate. I myself am no scholar, but the seemingly inescapable 1970s touches are there for all to see, as is the wonderful attention to detail such as the mother of pearl cuff buttons or the double breasting of the waistcoat. For me, the real master touch is actually the product of the combination of Redford’s acting and Lauren’s tailoring; in all his splendour, the appropriate irony is that Gatsby, though he, in the words of Daisy, “always looks cool”, is ever so slightly uncomfortable in his clothes. When he is alone with Daisy, or visiting Nick in the pouring rain, he is unbuttoned and frank; more in common with the penniless bond trader than the extraordinarily rich polo playing Tom.

The only sadness of the whole affair was that Ralph did not receive the credit he fully deserved for his vision. The lion’s share of the applause was directed at Theoni V.Aldredge, a veteran of the costume design industry, nigh on aristocratic as far as the Academy was concerned. Symbolic to the end, this mirrored Gatsby’s own vain hopes of recognition and even his tragic death at the hands of a careless and frightened establishment.

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I’m Trying to Watch a Film Here!

Spicer is thrown to the floor as the mob closes in. His nervous twitch accelerates as panic grips him. Pinkie grins with that frozen, demonic grin that Richard Attenborough did so well.

Is that a belted suit?

Suddenly, a cut-throat razor slashes across his cheek. With the innocence of a child, Pinkie clutches his cheek as blood oozes between his fingers.

That tie clip looks good.

A whistle rings out. As the cops fight through the watching crowd the mob scatters. Pinkie ducks under an arm and escapes. Spicer is left on the floor, presumed (at least by Pinkie) dead.

Those three buttons are only about an inch apart!

I’m sure it’s happened to you, if you are the sort of person that reads this blog. At some point during a classic film, you realise you’ve been thinking about what the actors are wearing, and not the plot. In this case the film was Brighton Rock, the 1947 dramatisation of Graham Greene’s famous novel, directed by John Boulting and with an unforgettable Richard Attenborough in the starring role, as the sociopath Pinkie Brown.

Like so many films of the time, it is fast-paced. After an hour it feels like you’ve already watched a whole novel. But I couldn’t stop looking at the suits Pinkie’s mob wears. They are broad-shouldered, with wide, sweeping lapels. The waists are so tight there are stretch marks across the back.

Some of the jackets have a belt detail that doesn’t tie – it is just sewn in for effect – but emphasises the waist still further. All of them have one button or, as mentioned above, have three buttons that are about an inch apart. Again, the single fastening emphasises that wide, deep V across the chest.

It’s obvious what the style was aiming for. Strength and vigour suggested through breadth. It’s noticeable that Spicer, the weakest member of the gang, and Fred Hale, the traitor whose murder starts the film, wear more conservative suits. They look ragged, the jackets are undone and the ties are loosened. Pinkie’s tie is pinned by a tie clip almost ridiculously high, giving him a tight, jutting knot. Broad and neat = power.

If you manage to watch the film, keep an eye out for Pinkie’s jacket as well. I’ve seen sports jackets with “bi-swing” styles around the shoulder before – they are pleats built into the join where the shoulder meets the back of the jacket. They allow greater stretch by bellowing out when the arm is extended, but lying hidden when the arm is straight. They were designed in an era when men actually used sports jackets for playing sport. But Pinkie’s jacket has three, not one. Three bellows on either side! Surely fashion rather than function.

The pictures shown here do it some justice, but I also recommend watching the film. It’s a cracking plot, when you can concentrate on it.

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Icons of Classic Style: Martin Luther King Jr.

Monday of this week was Martin Luther King Day, a holiday filled with both pragmatic and intangible significance. Dr. King is without a doubt one of the most revered figures in modern American history. More than most public figures of the 20th Century, King is so intertwined with the times in which he lived that he has transcended his own personality. He has become a legend, but a very human one.

I chose Dr. King as an icon of classic style because more than anyone else I admire, the way in which he chose to present himself every day quite literally changed the world. When I think of Martin Luther King, Jr., I see a man who possessed incredible inner strength and a drive to make a tangible mark on the world. I see a man who forced others to see who he really was by sheer force of personality. And when I think of how he looked – I see him in a suit.

It was usually a simple but elegant suit; dark, sober and professional. It was a Sunday suit; fitting of course as he was a preacher. But it was also his armor during a time in my country’s history when bigotry was literally the law. Black citizens had little protection or recourse and even the most heinous act of murder was seen in a different legal light. The presumption was usually that the victim deserved it and all white juries usually concurred.

I bring up these rather depressing images because it is important to put King in the right context. As with his contemporary, Bobby Kennedy, King has become a somewhat remote and perfected image. But the dangers faced by Dr. King and those around him were very real and very personal. Every day he had to get up and accept that his work could – and probably would – lead to his death.

In addition to his landmark non-violent protests, King led another type of war. It was the war of perception. Dr. King presented black America in a way that tore down the flimsy veil of prejudice. Step by step his actions reshaped the image of what made someone an American and a human.

King understood the role of media and of perception. He made a point to always be well turned out, eloquent, knowledgeable and gentlemanly. He was daily fighting the ignorant and small-minded stereotypes that unfortunately persist to this day. By presenting a glaring counter argument in the form of an accomplished and elegant African American leader, King opened a new front in the war for equality.

By being perpetually well dressed King’s image, as well as his words, presented an unassailable message of strength, confidence, leadership and intelligence.

He was not the first in civil rights leader to harness the power of dress. Malcolm X, a fellow civil rights activist and leading figure in the Nation of Islam, lead legions of followers impeccably turned out in suits and bow ties.

While clothing does not in and of itself change the world, part of Dr. King’s legacy will always be the image of a polished leader and brilliant orator. King’s choice of clothing extended his reach and defined a leader.

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Bertie Wooster Style

Of all the delightful escapism in this world, sitting down with a bit of Wodehouse is surely one of the most felicitous. P.G. gave us some of the most charming and warmest of characters in the history of literature and, without a doubt, the enduring appeal of the books is the wonderful innocence of the Wodehouse world. The Queen Mother used to read a little of the Jeeves books before turning in at night; Stephen Fry cites Wodehouse as one of his favourite authors and apparently as the lifebelt that prevented him from going all the way under in his dark days of self-doubt and crippling depression.

And there, in a nutshell is the wonder of the stories; it’s something to keep a great old lady entertained, skipping off to dreamland with the right cocktail of final thoughts; and something to remind us all how wonderful the world is, despite all the daily plight and anguish. Wodehouse is the representation of the human race on absolutely tip-top form. It’s a tonic to read, wonderful to watch and even acting like your favourite Wodehouse hero or heroine is marvellous fun.

Without a doubt, the most popular of these heroes is Bertie Wooster. Bertie is often believed to be rather stupid; young, very wealthy and completely lacking ambition, he lives an idle life, but as the narrator in the Jeeves series, his mind is actually chock full of amusing and truthful witticisms and observations.

And that’s not all he offers; Bertie is also one of the more appealing dandies in all history; fictional and non-fictional. When Jeeves is introducing his replacement, Brinkley, to the duties of the Wooster household, the less worldly and resentful Brinkley proffers the impertinent statement, on seeing Bertie’s vast and wonderful wardrobe; ‘Got enough clothes, ‘asn’t ‘e?’ Jeeves responds with appropriate dexterity; ‘Very nearly.’

Interpretations of Bertie’s style have run the gamut from garishly eccentric to immaculate subtlety, but one constant is the glorious optimism of his character which shines through in his resplendent clothing. From checkered plus-fours, which Jeeves strongly objects to, with that famous and mighty ‘silent-disapproval’ look of his, to his beautifully tailored tails with matching buttonhole and patent kickers; Bertie is a character who delights in fashions, but never neglects style. Jeeves often has to inform his master of sartorial codes; ‘Gentlemen do not wear straw hats in the metropolis’, but, largely, Bertie’s style, superior to that of his Drone’s Club chums, is self-taught and much admired.

His eye for trends and individuality is marked frequently in the Wodehouse books; choosing a white-mess jacket for a summer dinner instead of the usual ‘bally black thing’. Often, this persistence with fads is a mere representation of one of the evils of Bertie’s idleness: boredom. However, Bertie has much to teach our cynical and graceless society about the honest goodness of being, if a little dim, a bally pleasant chap. Reading a few lines of Bertie’s exasperating trials with the opposite sex gives me a renewed goodwill to the world; it makes me want to don some sharp threads, a jaunty hat and a bow-tie and skip down to the park for a bracing walk and a reflection on the magnificent planet we live on.
If living like Bertie is a problem, then you could always adopt his bonhomie and a smidgeon of his wardrobe, so pick up your natty umbrella and take a walk in the world of Wodehouse.

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